


The Herald’s Handler

by natsora



Series: Bad Things Happen [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bleeding, F/F, First Aid, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Medieval healing, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Stitches, Whump, bad things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 12:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsora/pseuds/natsora
Summary: The Herald is hurt after an encounter with the infamous Hinterland bears.  Cassandra takes pity and patches her up. Under stern warning to heal and rest, she learns the Seeker is in trouble. What else is there to do but to ride in like the knight in shining armour that she is?





	The Herald’s Handler

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Fill for the Bad Things Happen Bingo Card - Bleeding Through Bandages. I hope you enjoy it.

“The Herald is back!” The call rang out as the party rode in. 

Cassandra hurried to meet them, refugees trailing in behind the main party. Her eyes searched the crowd and found the Herald easily enough. High atop her horse, black hair in its characteristic haphazardly tied bun, strands flying free, giving her face a boyish quality. Her brown eyes the centre piece against fair skin tanned brown under the Hinterlands sun. 

Lexington Trevelyan, youngest scion of House Trevelyan of Ostwick. She came to the Conclave as an observer for her family and ended up as Andrstate’s Herald. If given a choice, Cassandra would have preferred a steadier personality for their Herald. The younger woman aged no older than a little over twenty years old. Young Trevelyan was as cheeky as a child and entirely too confident. Many times, she sought the Maker’s ear to ask why was Lexington Trevelyan marked as the Herald and not someone else, anyone else. The Maker was silent on that score.

The Herald shouted. “Healers! We have wounded.”

 _Wounded?_

Cassandra caught the bridle as the Herald swung down, noting the dark red marks were splattered across her armour. The contact between boot and ground made the Herald winced. Cassandra was there with a steadying hand. 

“Are you hurt?” 

The Herald shrugged off her hand. “Not me!” She usually ready with an easy smile, playful and cheerful despite the circumstances, had an uncharacteristic frown across her brow. She pointed at carts that were rolling in through the gates. “Them, they need help!”

Solas was on one of the carts, a sheen of sweat across his brow. A glow emitting from his hands as he applied his magic on the wounded, stabilising them. Cassandra called for the soldiers to carry the wounded to the healer’s tents. 

And that’s how the entire afternoon went. She left the wounded to those more adept in the healing arts while she spent several hours settling the uninjured refugees into the growing camp. Each were assigned a bedroll and a tent to sleep in. Families were kept together where possible. They were all given some essentials and shown where the various facilities were. 

As she emerged from the Chantry turned headquarters after giving the Ambassador the list of new arrivals, she needed to find out what happened. Was it impossible for one thing to go right? The Herald were supposed to ride into the Hinterlands to meet with Mother Giselle to listen what she had to say and hopefully find Master Dennet to secure the Inquisition mounts. 

This had went way beyond the Herald’s purview. She shouldn’t have ceded to the Herald’s wishes and stayed with them, though the Herald had rightly pointed out Cassandra was needed back at Haven. Cassandra had hoped Blackwall, their latest recruit, would be able to curb the Herald’s wilder inclinations. But it was obviously in vain. The Herald needed a babysitter. And right now she was it.

Solas was still busy in the healer’s tents. Varric was where he normally was, standing by the fire, trying to stay warm. If she wanted the embellished version of events, she’d asked him, but that wasn’t what she was after. Blackwall was who she looked for. It took a little searching and asking, funnily enough, Varric was the one who pointed her in the right direction. Eventually she found him near the forge. 

His breath misting in the cold air, his gaze far away as he contemplated the Breach. A single, simple word to describe the tear in their reality, it was woefully inadequete. 

“Warden,” she called. 

He spoke without facing her, eyes still focused on the cackling green lightning that lanced across the sky, “Maker, look at it.”

Her jaw tightened as she turned her eyes to it. “We will close it, one way or another. We have the Herald by our side, we can only prevail.” Cassandra couldn’t say the words were for herself or him. 

Looking at the swirling mess of clouds, a rip in their sky, a hole into the heavens itself, she couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine. It was all too large, beyond her understanding and ability to wrap her mind around. What could have done this and killed everyone at the Conclave save the Herald? She must be Andraste’s Herald, after all she had survived what nobody else could. That was the only logical conclusion, wasn’t it? 

Cassandra shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. She had more immediate pressing issues than the workings of the Maker and his Bride. 

“What happened during the expedition?”

Blackwall turned and regarded her. “Seeker, after you left us everything was well. We spent days doing what we can in the Hinterlands, securing herbs supplies for a local healer, slaying magic crazed wolves, marking spots for watchtowers and hunting ram meat for the refugees. The Herald even helped a young man escort his family’s ram home,” he said wryly. 

Cassandra shook her head. That sounded just like the Herald and apparently without her to rein the younger woman in, nobody else would. Varric wasn’t inclinced to curb the Herald’s more absurd inclinations. And to expect Blackwall to do it was probably a little premature.

The Herald despite her noble upbringing behaved like she was a child at times, prone to be distracted by the newest and shiniest things. Cassandra had expected a scion of House Trevelyan to be groomed for the Game, trained in the arts of ladylike behaviour and skills. All noble families, no matter where they were from, tend to be a little obsessive with maintaining the strength of their bloodline. It seemed Lexington Trevelyan was a rebel. In this, Cassandra couldn’t say she disapprove. 

She sighed and nodded, motioning Blackwall to go on. 

“The Herald learnt a group of refugees wanted to make the trek to Haven, seeking safety here. She offered to escort them. Two days outside of the Hinterlands, we were set upon by Hinterland fauna.”

“Bear?”

Blackwall nodded. 

Cassandra shuddered. She knew about the Hinterland bears. They were plentiful and ferocious to boot. “Who led the bear into the camp?”

“One of the refugees was intent on hunting for fresh meat and lead the bears into camp.”

“Bears? There was more than one?”

Blackwall sighed and nodded, running a weary hand through his hair. “The Herald rallied the party and we managed to put down a few bears. But our fight only led more towards us and we had to run. We were successful in it but not before some refugees were caught in the fray.”

She nodded. If the injuries she had seen in the healer’s tents was any indication, Solas was badly taxed keeping so many alive. “You all have done well saving as many as you did.”

“That’s the thing, the Herald made sure every single person made it out one way or another. We didn't lose a single person.”

Cassandra blinked. Now that was something she hadn’t expected. The Herald by all records was untested in the field. Ostwick tradition dictated the first born would inherit, the second born given to the Chantry, the third born to the templars and the fourth was a loose end, unwanted in a family of plenty, considered unlucky and an ill omen. Many fourth born were given away at birth, or left to die in the woods, those that weren’t gotten rid of at birth were quickly ushered out of family land and made to seek their fortune. But the Herald was different, her family had apparently kept and nurtured her. 

_Maybe she isn’t as much of a malingerer as she makes herself out to be._

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said. “And Warden, I’m glad you joined us.”

“Likewise, Seeker,” he muttered. “Likewise.”

* * *

Cassandra had spotted the Herald about Haven, brushing down her horse after she had made sure the refugees were seen to. She heard the Herald’s loud protests as Josephine dragged her into her office, something about being hungry. They were holed up inside working on the Maker knew what. Later, the Herald followed Leliana and Cullen sullenly into the war room to plan their next steps. But it was late evening, dinner came and went. There was no sign of the Herald. And she was never one to miss meals. 

_Maybe she is just tired after all that excitement. Still, that is never a reason to miss a meal._

It took Leliana to convince her to check in on the Herald. “Why should I?” Cassandra asked. “She is a grown woman. She can decide if she wants dinner or not.”

“Yes, she is. But I think something isn’t right. She was trying to hide something during the meeting.”

Cassandra frowned. “Why me?”

“She listens to you for one thing. And I think she is least likely to win with those eyes of hers if it’s you,” Leliana pointed out. “Look it isn’t that hard. Just bring her some food and check in on her. If she is fine, that’s good. We do have a vested interest to keep our Herald in good health and spirits, don’t we?”

And so Cassandra found herself with a tray of food in one hand as she rapped her knuckles on the cabin assigned to the Herald. 

There was a grunt. “Who is it? If the the sky isn’t falling down, go away.”

“It’s Cassandra, Herald.”

A muffled snort of frustration came from inside “Seeker, go away,” it was quickly followed by a telltale moan. 

Cassandra reddened. 

_Is the Herald just looking for some alone time to take care of herself? Maker knows she is human still despite being the Herald. She hadn’t had any time to herself since... well everything._

She turned, ready to leave the Herald to whatever was going on inside when a muted groan came again. This time, it was decidedly less ambiguous. It was pain, not pleasure. 

“What’s happening inside?” Her fist hammered the door a little harder this time. 

“Go away,” the voice pitched higher, almost a whimper. 

Cassandra hesitated. Some people did take pleasure from pain and she wasn’t about to judge others for their habits or needs. Maker knew she had heard about more outlandish things from the Orleasian court. But she couldn’t just leave without making sure the Herald was all right, could her? 

“Herald, are you all right?  


Nothing but heavy breathing came through as her imagination ran wild. “Look, just open the door, look me in the eye and tell me to go away,” she said. “Otherwise I’m ramming the door down.”

Silence filled the wake of her words. She carefully placed the tray a safe distance away and was about to kick the door down when it cracked open. Through the silt, she could see the Herald’s tanned skin. But it decidedly paler than usual, a sheen of sweat coated over her brow, plastering hair to her forehead. “I’m fine-“

That decided it. 

Cassandra picked the tray up again and shouldered the door open before the younger woman could stop her. The Herald always quick on her feet, with an almost rouge like propensity to climb tall things especially when she tried to escape her duties. She stumbled and fell heavily onto the floor with all the grace of a drufflo. She groaned again, a hand pressed against her side. 

A quick glance around the cabin revealed the Herald was alone. Cassandra would die of embarrassment had she judged wrongly. The tray quickly found a home on the nearby table.

“Are you hurt?” Worry crept into her chest as the Herald didn’t immediately pick herself up from ground and laughed her clumsiness off. 

“Close the door, please,” the Herald begged through gritted teeth. 

Cassandra lifted the Herald to the cot easily enough before tending to the door. It was then she realised the Herald was topless, other than her breast band encircling her small chest. And blood was trickling down her flank. 

“You are hurt! I’m going to get Solas.”

The Herald’s hand clamped around her wrist with a force that surprised her. The younger woman wielded a sword and shield, but she tended to underestimate the Herald’s strength due to her smaller frame. There was a lot of power packed in so small a package.

“Don’t.”

“You need healing,” she pointed out, the frown across her brow hardening. 

“I just need a healing potion and some stitches to close up the wound. It’s fine. I don’t need to trouble Solas. He has spent days exhausting his mana. It’s fair not to him,” the Herald begged with her pain glazed eyes.

Cassandra blinked, her stance softening under that puppy dog gaze. _Now I know what Leliana meant._ She sighed and glanced at the scattered supplies. “You have been trying to do this yourself? Couldn’t you have asked for help?”

The Herald winced as she relaxed, relief flooding her features once she understood Cassandra was giving in. “I hadn’t realise it was this bad. I mean I’m used to patching myself up after all.”

Cassandra filed the information away and jerked her chin towards the cot. “Lie down on your side.”

The Herald whimpered as she lay down, holding herself as stiff as a board. How she had been running around Haven seeing to her work with this was unfathomable. She eyed the three gashes that ran from just under the Herald’s breast band to her waist. Dried blood staining the edges of the band. She sighed and gathered the scattered supplies, arraying all within an easy arm’s reach. 

“I’m going to have to remove your breast band.”

“Ok,” the reply came through clenched teeth. 

The band came loose quickly enough and the Herald shivered. The Frostbacks wasn’t the best place to be lying around half naked if one wasn’t engaged in more strenuous activities. Goosebumps rose across the blend of tan and milky skin as she wrapped an arm around her chest. 

“It’s going to sting.”

“Yeah, I gathered. Just do it, all right,” she said, shuddering. “I’m bloody cold.”

Cassandra worked quickly, drowsing the wound with alcohol and cleaning them throughly. The Herald flinched but held herself as still as she could. Then the needle was disinfected by passing through the flame. Needle puncturing skin, stitching the wound close and the Herald bore it all with minimal complaints though through the tightness of her jaw, it was clear it was taxing her endurance. Finally she applied a generous layer of elfroot salve over the stitches. 

“I need you to sit up so that I can dress the wound.”

The Herald’s breath shallow as she exhaled, one elbow trembling as she braced it against the cot. “I can’t, you got to help me up.”

Her hand gripped Cassandra’s tight, squeezing her fingers together, grinding knuckle against knuckle. Cassandra grunted but said nothing. She shifted so that the Herald could lean against her, thankful that she had changed into more comfortable clothes and wasn’t wearing her armour. It would have made for an unpleasant result for the Herald to have bare skin against stone cold armour plates. 

The Herald’s weight against her chest wasn’t unpleasant and this close Cassandra detected a hint of the younger woman’s scent. It smelt faintly of lavender and cedar. Clean bandages winded around the Herald’s torso, skin brushing against skin as the Herald kept her eyes close. The frown across her brow disappearing as the salve worked to numb the wounds. 

“Done.”

“Thank you, Seeker,” The Herald groaned as she tried to sit up on her own.

But Cassandra kept a grip on the Herald’s shoulder, tugging her back down against her. A question hovered on the Herald’s half opened mouth. Instead of explaining, Cassandra uncocked the healing potion. 

“Drink.” 

The Herald lifted her left hand as she was wrought to do being left handed and moaned. The motion tugged at freshly stitched up flesh. “Maker’s flaming balls. Remind me not to do that again.”

“Don’t do that again, Herald” Cassandra replied, deadpanned. 

The younger woman blinked, eyes narrowing. In the end, she shook her head. “You know I have a name,” she pointed out in between sips. “I’m more than a little tired of the whole Herald business.”

“Are you not a believer?”

“Does it matter?” She retorted, sighing as she drained the potion, grimacing at the taste. “Cause I think Andraste has made a horrible mistake if that’s the case.”

Cassandra grunted. 

“Are you agreeing with me? Is that an affirmation?”

“No, that’s just a noise.”

“Seeker, you make noises and then you _make noises_. They are not the same. Your noises are a language unto itself.”

“Are you quite done, Herald?” Cassandra asked pointedly. 

“Like I said I had a name before being the ‘Herald’. I’d like to reclaim that. Lexington Trevelyan, it’s a little long I’d grant you. It doesn’t quite roll off the tongue but I’m not the Herald,” she said, sitting up a little easier this time. 

Cassandra didn’t answer, instead retrieved the tray of food. “Eat,” she commanded. 

The Herald’s lips twisted at the sight. “I just want to sleep.”

“You need to. The healing potion uses your body’s reserves to hasten the healing. You’d need to replenish them with food, Trevelyan.”

The Herald made a face, wrinkling up her nose and grimaced. 

“Does it still hurt? I should get one of the mages here even if it’s not Solas.”

“No, no,” she waved her hand a little frantically. “Trevelyan is my father’s name, or my brothers’. Call me Lex, or Lexington if you have to.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Given your lapse in judgement I don’t think I can trust you to go out on expedition without me by your side, Herald.”

The younger woman winced. “I was expecting this.”

“What?”

“Scolding.”

“You deserve it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know I do. I didn’t realised it was this bad. If I had known I’ll ask for help sooner, I swear,” she lifted her left arm up and instantly regretted it. 

Cassandra snorted. “Rest and recover. I’ll inform the others of your injuries.”

“Can’t we just keep this between us?” she asked, a drumstick clasped between her fingers as she gestured with it, punctuating her words. 

The entire situation looked ridiculous. There she was standing in the middle of the cabin with her hand stained with the Herald’s blood while the Herald was seated still bare breasted on her cot, waving a drumstick around. Obviously the Herald felt well enough by now if she was being poked fun at. 

“No,” Cassandra said, “we cannot, Herald.”

She pivoted on her heel and left, closing the door to see the Herald wincing at her use of the title again. 

* * *

The story spread as days passed. And in Varric’s hands it was embellished and exaggerated to a point Trev could no longer able to recognise the story. Other than bears and her were involved in some kind of fight, she swore she never lived through that turn of events. It was unnerving when the number of bears seemed to grow with each telling.

Cassandra was back to her usual grumpy self and no amount of apologising for her lapse of judgement was turning her around, even with massive application of her puppy dog eyes that worked every other time had failed. To be assigned a minder to babysit her was unbearable and too stifling. But in this she knew there was no escape. 

Trev sighed. It sucked to be wounded. She couldn’t lift her left arm without feeling the tug on the stitches. But thankfully, the gashes no longer bothered her much. 

Solas had offered to heal her but she declined. “The wounds are healing already. And there is no infection. Don’t waste it on me.”

Solas’ only response was a raised eyebrow. “Waste? It is never a waste to heal someone, especially the Herald.”

“Please do not call me that,” Trev begged before lowering her voice into a whisper. “Truth to be told, I just want some cool scars. So I can go home when this is all over and show my family.”

The apostate chuckled and nodded. 

And there was no more mention of healing magic. In truth, Trev was a little uncomfortable about the entire matter. Mages messing with her body through magic was an unnerving thought. They might be truly altruistic in their motives but she’d rather take her chance with conventional healing. She had been told time and time again about the dangers of magic and how it was the cause of her mother’s death during her birth. What was merely a story from childhood had solidify as a tangible fear. It had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach. Trev looked at her gloved left hand. Magic had disrupted her life enough, she didn’t need more of it.

_What will Father say?_

She sighed, dismissing the thought. It’s a problem for another time. She had requested Josephine to send missives to House Trevelyan informing her father that yes, his good for nothing daughter was indeed alive and now currently being hailed as the Herald. The whole glowing green hand bit was completely left out. It’s probably better that way. 

“Hey Jitters, how are the wounds?” Varric greeted as she approached his usual spot.

Trev’s brow creased a little at the nickname, but she greatly preferred it over the Herald. “Jitters? I’m sure you can do better.”

“Yeah, Jitters isn’t quite right. I’ll work on it some more”

She laughed. “They are healing well. The Seeker did a good job stitching me up,” she replied, grin on her face. “Should be able to get some badass scars.”

“So eager to mark up your body, are you?” He laughed. 

“Well I don’t want to look like a snotty nose kid among you dashing and scarred heroes,” she pointed out, stepping close towards the fire. “And still be looked upon as the figurehead of this entire thing.” 

“Well, these scars, battle scars if you will, never come with happy stories. But if that’s what you're after more power to you I guess.”

Trev stepped closer to the fire. She hated the bitter chill in the air. Ostwick was much warmer than the Frostbacks. Everywhere had got to be warmer than the Frostbacks, she decided. 

“Where’s Cassandra?” She looked around as she realised she didn’t hear the Seeker’s sword hammering away at the straw dummies. “Did she decided to show mercy to the dummies today?”

Varric eyed her shrewdly and shrugged. “She left early this morning with a bunch of soldiers. Apparently they are escorting another group of refugees from the Hinterlands.”

Trev grunted, poking at the fire aimlessly, glancing at the sky. Her eyes traced the arcs of unnatural green lightning that lit up the swirling clouds. Her hand twinged in response. It no longer hurt like it was being plunged into a boiling cauldron of water anymore. She flexed it but couldn’t quite get rid of the sensation. 

“It’s boring to be stuck here,” she muttered irritably under her breath. 

“Here.”

She turned and saw Varric holding out a book to her. She accepted and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“It’s just the thing to cure boredom,” Varric explained. 

Trev grimaced. Being still wasn’t what she did best. 

* * *

And so Trev spent days reading and resting, mingling with the folks at Haven and enjoying the songs at the tavern. She enjoyed attempting to one up Varric outrageous stories, she couldn’t quite believe the stories he told of his time in Kirkwall. Watching the Commander trained his troops was another popular way she spent her hours not claimed by Josephine and her dark and musty office. Trev was keen to join in the training after she healed. The Seeker would be a better choice, but she was a little afraid of the stern faced older woman. After all, she was the Right Hand of the Divine, Royalty and she did threatened to kill Trev the moment she woke up, in chains no less.

Despite it all, Trev was restless like a tiger caged, maybe more like a mabari under-exercised. Her eyes searching for something, her ears missing a familiar sound but what exactly she couldn’t put her finger on it. Night after night she fell into a fitful sleep.

The Chantry bell tolled. 

Trev jerked upright, wincing as the motion tugged at her stitches. _Darkspawn!_ Adrenaline instantly coursing through her veins as she threw her feet over the side of her cot. Taking only time to throw on a gambeson over her thinner night shirt before she was out the door. 

“What’s happening?” She shouted, “Is it darkspawn?”

Each chime of the Chantry bell sent a flash of memory lancing through her mind. Each one was stained by fear, each one coloured with panic. She was a child then. The bell tolled loud in the Trevelyan Manor. Her father would shout for her brothers to take on arms while she was bundled up into the cellar with the servants. 

“Quiet, don’t cry,” a voice would tell her. “Here, hold my hand. Be brave, little one, be brave.”

Tears remained unshed, teeth biting down on lips to keep them from betraying them. Her small hand tightened around a larger, rougher one. She waited in the dark. Whispers of the Maker’s chant were featherlight against her ears as she mouthed the words automatically. 

“Maker’s sagging tits,” she growled and jammed the heel of her palm into her eyes, scrubbing the images from the back of her eyelids. 

“Herald, it’s the Seeker’s party, they ran into trouble.” One of the guard called out. 

“Where are they?” 

Minutes later, Trev was on a horse, equipped with a sword and shield not hers, riding out. Cullen had promised to send more soldiers on after her. For now she rode out with the handful of templars and archers that manned the gates. 

Her blood sang as the frosty air lashed against her face, her hair whipping in the wind. Action drove the old fear deeper, so deep she could convinced herself it was never there to begin with. 

The sound of battle reached her ears before long. There in the valley was a convoy defended by a handful of soldiers. One of them wore armour that bore the Eye of the Seekers of Truth. “Cassandra,” she exhaled. 

The mere breath of her name seemed to catch the Seeker’s attention. Their eyes met, understanding seemed to pass between them despite the distance. At least, that’s what Trev told herself. 

Wrenching her attention back to the battle, she quickly saw the problem. Bandits had set up an ambush. They were raining arrows down from the top of the ridge. Cassandra and her soldiers couldn’t move without putting the refugees at risk. It took a couple of hand signals to indicate what she wanted. Her squad nodded, understanding what she needed quickly.

Trev with sword aloft, she screamed, “Charge!”

Spurring her stead, she rushed headlong into the fray. Fire arrows zipped passed her head towards the archers, lighting them ablaze. Their cries filled the air.

* * *

Cassandra’s arms burnt at the weight of her sword and shield. But she persevered, lifting her sword and bracing her shield. Up and down the blade swung, cutting down any foolish enough to get close. 

When she heard sounds of horses approaching her heart fell, resigned to making a last stand, defending the refugees huddled behind her back. Then something caught her attention, someone up upon the ridge was looking down at her. 

_Friend or foe?_

There was something familiar about the person but she didn’t have the time to give it much thought. Whoever it was, they were foolish enough to come into battle without armour. 

_It had better be one of the bandits. I don’t relish the thought any one of our people being this foolhardy._

A battle cry rang out and Cassandra watched as the tides of the battle turned. The enemy archers were fleeing under the onslaught of the newcomers. She was unleashed. Surging forward, she brought her fury to the enemy. 

The foolish person joined the fray, wielding sword and shield expertly and a little quicker than she could. It could be the lack of proper armour weighing them down but she couldn’t help but appreciate the grace they had. Whoever it was, they were laughing and snarling in equal turns, their back towards her. 

“Such foolishness,” she growled and shifted so that she could cover her rescuer’s unprotected back. 

The person grunted as she pressed her back against theirs. Cassandra had her eyes on the enemy. Where she lunged forward to stab at one, the person twisted to cover her back, when they bashed their shield into the face of a foe, she guarded their flank. They moved easily together as a unit. Words were unnecessary. 

“Hey there,” the person spoke through heavy breaths. “Fancy meeting you here, Seeker.”

Cassandra blinked, then frowned. Brows crashing together like the tides. It was the Herald. “What in the Maker’s name are you doing here?” 

“Coming to your rescue in your hour of need,” the younger woman pointed out as she slashed at another bandit.

“Without armour?” 

The Herald winced at the tone. “Yeah, I was in too much of a hurry to notice.”

“What?” Cassandra’s voice got louder, her gaze sharpened. 

“Scold me later, all right?” 

* * *

Trev grimaced at the snort she received in return. It was a noise of epic proportions. It’s a noise that promised her skin would be flayed under the Seeker’s gaze. Her flank was sore, pain burning up across her body. Her gambeson was wet, stuck against her body. 

_It’s just sweat, not blood. It’s not blood._

In the split second between the Seeker turning her attention back to the battle, Trev spotted a lone archer on the ridge, arrow nocked. Time slowed. 

“Archer!”

Trev hunched low as pain lanced up her side, but she was committed. She slammed her shield into the Seeker’s back, praying she would live through the tongue lashing that would inevitably come. The Seeker made a noise of surprise as she fell. Under any other circumstances, Trev would have laughed, but she was busy getting her shield over the Seeker and herself. 

The arrow pinged off her shield, the impact sending a rattle up her arm. Cassandra righted herself quickly enough to catch the next arrow. Shield against shield, forming a barrier as Trev quickly reached for her grappling hook. She eyed the pesky archer carefully and let fly. With a quick jerk of her arm, the archer came tumbling down. Cassandra was quickly upon him. He died with barely a whimper. 

“Is that the last of them?” Trev panted as she glanced around. Surreptitiously she pulled her gambeson up and saw blood staining the bandages. She winced. _I’ll never hear the end of this._

Then, a cheer roared from behind them. “We’re saved! Thank the Maker! The Herald saved us!” 

* * *

Cassandra watched as the Herald waved, grinning at the crowd. She was amazed at the feats the Herald managed to pull off despite seemingly having a death wish. Still she wasn’t ungrateful, without the Herald and her squad, everyone would be dead. 

Before she could check on the Herald, after all she had went through battle without proper armour, the younger woman was among the refugees. She darted among them, making sure everyone was all right, handing out her healing potions for those who weren’t. 

Cassandra attended to her weapons and looked in on her people, getting them to round up the mounts that had ran in the ambush. As she was wrapping up, the Herald asked from astride her mount, “Seeker, shall we go?” 

She grimaced. “Some of our mounts had fled in the ambush. Hopefully they return to Haven.”

“If they are Master Dennet’s horses, they’d know their way home,” she replied confidently. “Why don’t we double up?”

Cassandra glanced at the others. She was the only one without a mount. Nodding and she took the Herald’s offered hand. With one smooth motion, she swung herself up behind the Herald. The younger woman grunted and inhaled sharply. Cassandra frowned. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing. Come on, let’s go. We’ve ran out of healing potions already anyway. Besides I want to be home for dinner.” 

The Herald spurred her mount, giving her no time to protest. She snorted, “Always thinking with your stomach, Herald.”

She sighed, a sound so aggrieved and tired. “Yes Seeker, the _Herald_ needs to eat. Let’s hurry back to Haven, shall we?”

* * *

It didn’t take long before Haven loomed into view. The gates opening slowly as the call rang out. “The Herald has returned!”

“I wish they stop calling me that,” the Herald muttered irritably. 

Cassandra was too tired to question her, instead she swung down from the horse and held the bridle. She offered a hand to the Herald. The younger woman took it and got off. As her legs hit the ground, they buckled. 

“Herald!”

Cassandra wrapped an arm around her side as she braced the Herald back to her feet. The younger woman grimaced and let out a hiss of pain. Cassandra realised there was a large wet patch along the Herald’s side. Her hand had came away all red.

“I don’t feel so good,” she said confessed. 

Cassandra made of a sound of frustration and the Herald seemed to shrank in her grip. “When did you pop your stitches?”

“I don’t remember, I didn’t feel it.”

“Maker, you’re the death of me.”

“Nah, I won’t.”

Another snort of reined in anger, she started steering the Herald towards her cabin. It wouldn’t do to let the people know Andraste’s chosen was hurt. Morale would plummet. 

“I can’t seem to walk very well,” the Herald remarked as she stumbled along. 

Cassandra tightened her grip against the Herald’s side. 

“Not quite so tight,” she gasped. 

“Would you rather fall then?”

“Ok, ok, Seeker you made your point.”

The rest of the trip was conducted in silence. Once inside, Cassandra settled the Herald on her cot. There was no need for subtlety. They had done this once before after all. She pulled the gambeson open to find the Herald’s bandages bloodstained. 

“Why didn't you say anything? It must have hurt.” She removed the stained bandages. “Maker! You torn all your stitches?”

“I didn’t know you cared, Seeker,” the Herald chuckled, her back as stiff as a board.

Cassandra straightened, starring at the Herald for a moment, unable to tell if this was just another cheeky remark or it was a genuine observation. _Is this how she saw me? The uncaring woman that dragged her along to close rifts, caring nothing more for her than the power in her left hand?_

She drew breath and the younger woman shrank back again, eyes squeezed shut against the impending rebuke. Her jaw tightened and reined in her frustration. “I’m going to get Solas.” 

That got the Herald’s attention. She tried to sit up. One hand shot out to grip her wrist. “No mages, please.”

“Why? It’s the fastest way to get you healed up.”

“Please.” Her voice breaking at the voice as exhaustion and a hint of real fear crept in. The jokes and teasing had all fallen by the wayside. “No mages, please.”

Cassandra stared at her. Where was this coming from? The Herald had worked well with Solas and the mages that had joined their cause. There was no sign to show the Herald was anything but friendly with mages. Where was this fear coming from? 

_Was that why she hadn’t sought help the first time?_

The Herald’s nails dug into her arm. “Please. Stitches and healing potions will suffice.”

She took a deep steady breath and eyed the wound critically. “All right.”

“Thank you, thank you.” The Herald sank back onto her cot, eyes sagging shut. 

“None of that. I need you to turn onto your side,” she instructed as she rummaged around the box of supplies in the cabin for a healing potion. “Drink this.”

The Herald drained the bottle and turned onto her side. Goosebumps had rippled across her tanned skin. “I’ll be quick.”

The younger woman just nodded. Pain and weariness had finally stilled her tongue. Cassandra worked, repeating the steps she had taken just a few nights ago, repairing the damage the Herald had wrought on herself. 

“You know this is getting to be a habit for you.”

“Having you in my cabin while I’m half naked?”

Cassandra grunted. 

“Sorry,” came the quiet apology. 

Cassandra went on, ignoring the jibe. “Herald, I think it’s probably safer to confine you to Haven when I’m too busy to mind you.”

“No, please don’t. Rifts don’t close by themselves,” she whispered, her eyes half lidded. 

Cassandra had no better retort and she held her tongue. The silence wasn’t awkward as sometimes it would be with Varric or even Cullen. They'd feel the need to fill the silence like it was abhorrent. The Herald was completely capable of being still and quiet she was surprised to discover, albeit it took injury for that to happen. 

“And please don’t call me that,” the Herald spoke eventually. 

“Trevelyan,” Cassandra tried. It was after all the Herald’s family name.

“Not that either.”

“Lexington?”

The Herald opened her eyes and looked at her. “It is my name but no.”

“Trev?” Another sincere attempt, after all if it bothered the Herald this much what did it matter to change how she addressed the younger woman?

The Herald smiled and nodded. “That’s what my brothers calls me,” she said, flinching as Cassandra tugged the busted stitches loose. “Told me I’m too young to bear the full weight of the name. And it stuck.”

“Are you saying I’m your older sister?” Needle and catgut was next. In and out, in and out, Trev breathed through it. 

“No. You’re like my bodyguard I think, keeping me safe from myself,” she laughed. 

Cassandra gave a snort of amusement. At least the Herald had enough self awareness to know that. 

“But it reminds me of home. And I like that.”

Cassandra’s hands stilled after tying off the last knot. She laid a hand against Trev’s arm and she relaxed into it. 

“I like that a lot,” she repeated.

“All right then, Trev,” she said, trying out the new name, it rolled of her tongue easily. “Consider yourself confined to bed until you’re properly healed this time.”

“No...” Trev groaned pitifully, putting on a show of sheer mental agony, all the while a grin was plastered across her face. 

_What have I done? Maybe giving in was a mistake._

Lexington Trevelyan for better or worse was the Herald. She held the salvation of Thedas literally in the palm of her hand. As foolhardy and responsibility adverse she professed to be, her heart was in the right place. Cassandra was willing to be her guard against everything that attempted to bring harm to her Herald, even if it’s herself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always welcomed!


End file.
